What it Means to Heal
by xArurie
Summary: What if Claire could do it all again? She had longed for such a chance for so long, to save that innocent boy. But scars, both mental and physical, manifest and form rifts with the passage of time. What once was true is not always. Second chances are never quite so simple.
1. Finding You

Him.

Every day was the same. Unfocused eyes and dulled thoughts.

He hadn't the thought of fighting. Not anymore.

Slumped against the wall, he waited for an end he didn't care to see.

Her.

Claire was apprehensive as the van drove along the road.

Its pace was too slow, she thought. Biting into her lip, her thoughts were only of days long passed.

"Claire?" Her co-worker and driver asked.

Snapping back into the present moment and all that entailed, Claire shook her head.

"Yes?" She made sure to sound assured, and hoped the lie stuck.

"Are you alright?" He asked. "You've been quiet for a while now".

"I…" She searched for the words.

"It's a long drive" he continued, noting her silence. "I need someone to amuse me," he added, smiling.

After mulling it over, she returned the expression. "Alright," she replied, glad for the distraction.

She turned towards the window thoughtfully. _I'll be there soon._

—

The van pulled into the entrance. It was hidden by a vast woods, but others from their organization had opened a path. Claire hazarded a step onto ground more solid than her resolution.

They received the intel two days ago: a mostly abandoned lab from Tricell. One of the researchers watching the place was recently caught for various crimes, and relented on its location. Claire had hoped that it had been from guilt or genuine compassion for the subjects, but it was of course just so that his 'work wasn't wasted'.

 _Sick. People were just 'work'. Is it all to show off?_

She figured it was best not to dwell on it. Through her years at TerraSave and before, she had met many unhinged individuals. Thinking too much about the situations and justifications that carried them through their actions made her question her own sanity.

She had been specially contacted when he detailed each of his experiments. One was of a boy with red hair and transformations.

 _It couldn't be,_ she cautioned herself. _He was already…_ Still, she couldn't stop the hope from pooling around her feet, growing through the rest of her body the more she thought about it. It threatened to spill over.

She had volunteered to be one of the first on the scene. She had to be. Other vehicles were already there, their occupants readying their weapons.

They also enlisted the military for this operation, as anything involving Tricell spelled danger. Every possible safeguard must be explored, lest the whole thing turn out to be a trap.

Claire grimaced. _Or set off a trap that makes the whole place blow._ She didn't doubt it for a second. Organizations like this tended to view such methods as 'insurance', keeping others from taking their secrets.

She spoke to other members. Technicians had hacked into the systems, disabling anything suspect, but making sure to leave all doors operational. A group had already gone in to scout, and so far, so good. They handed her and her team masks to protect them from airborne contagions.

The next unit entered, yet the integrity of the building remained. Perhaps the researcher hadn't been lying when he said he was the primary caretaker here.

It was then that they signaled her. She immediately fastened the mask.

They had found several subjects, all in terrible condition. Her feet moved before the thought truly sunk in.

 _I have to see him._ Holding her gun securely, she entered the main entrance with a few coworkers.


	2. Memories Give Way to a New Beginning

It had been twelve years ago now. The nightmare on Rockfort Island felt never ending, but the whole ordeal ended after just a day.

She had met him then: a 17-year-old Steve Burnside. He was foolish, immediately rubbing her the wrong way. That tended to happen when someone shoots at you with a turret gun. He was quick-to-anger, had an attitude, and was cocky beyond belief.

What he also was, she realized, was a young boy trying to cope with an impossible situation. He blamed his father for the entire mess, and had he not did what he did, Steve would never have been there at all. He was lashing out, faking bravado to fool himself more than anyone else.

He was afraid… Afraid and alone.

Claire had only been 19 herself, at the time. Steve would do things to impress her, which kept the mood lighter than it could have been. She was thankful for that.

By the end of the day, he confessed his love. High stress situations can cause intense emotions and bonding, she knew. She shrugged it off as that. She had to. There was no closure to be found, no way to understand her own feelings.

 _What did Steve mean to me…?_ She never got to know.

What he left behind were memories skewed by tragedy. She watched his neck break as he helplessly cried, his voice shifting into something _else._

But he was still in there. He still saved her. It spoke leagues about the determination of his character. If the same had happened to her, she wondered if she could hold onto herself in the same way.

He was amazing in his own way. He wasn't some perfect action hero: he was still a kid, but he handled the situation as best as he knew how, and became an indispensable partner.

An indispensable hole in her heart, and an eternal regret.

She joined TerraSave for that very reason: to _save._ The very thing she failed to do for Steve.

 _If I could do it all again._

—

Moving quickly through the facility, paramedics approached the subjects deemed safe to touch. The scientist gave them extensive notes on each individual, but hazmat suits were still to be utilized for physical contact, and no one could leave the premises until everything was confirmed as safe.

There was no way to trust him, after all, no matter how well it may seem to be going.

Members of her unit would branch off to watch each subject, should anything go awry. She was waiting for a certain person, but each glimpse would prove another disappointment.

 _Not him… Not him… Not him…_

Each time it happened, she was sapped of her most precious resource: hope. But she didn't let the sentiment crack her facade. She had been through these procedures so many times, her body conducted itself on autopilot.

It was then that she saw the large, white room blocked by clear walls. This was the largest containment cell she had seen thus far.

Its size was much too large for the emaciated body against the far wall.

Claire forced herself to breathe, realizing she hadn't been since seeing its single occupant.

His head of red hair hung limp, adorned by a body with skin so pale it looked translucent.

She approached the wall, opting for a closer look, but was stopped by a soldier.

"We haven't opened the doors yet. This is the subject on file for 'transformations,' so caution has to be taken." Their words were like a reprimandation for her perceived carelessness. The group of them surrounding the room's stares weighed on her like a final judgement.

She glared daggers at this obstacle. "What's his status?" She practically spat.

"The researcher said this one is so pumped full of drugs, he should be manageable, but," he breathed. "It's been a few days since he had a dosage. We don't know his trigger for transformation."

"I'll go in." She took a step forward.

The two looked at one another, then seemed to radio their leader. After a hushed exchange, one turned to her. "So you might know this one," It wasn't a musing or understanding. His words sounded more like disgust. He continued. "This is the last subject to be approached." The other went to the door to present the access card they created. The lights above it turned a welcoming green, signaling its compliance to the visit.

"You're not suited, so please remember you aren't to touch anyone," the first soldier continued.

She knew the procedure, but _If he's really hurt…_ While she remained silent, the soldier finished: "If you're really sure that you can keep this from going south, continue forward." A third added, "We'll follow for back-up."

Feeling words unnecessary, Claire only nodded slowly, cueing her resolution to the group. They filed behind her in formation.

She slowly walked towards the door, raising her gun. It opened. No explosion. No discernible chemical released into the air. For the moment, things were fine. She hazarded a step inside.

Nothing. No movement from the room's occupant.

 _Is he even breathing? I have to know…_

She knew she shouldn't touch him. She wasn't protected from viruses or bacteria transferred through physical contact. But if this _was_ Steve and if he _was_ the same as before, physical contact shouldn't be enough to transfer anything.

 _It's only a look anyway. I have to know…_ The tests were much too slow, and the potential danger of his case kept the paramedics from helping him as quickly as she would like.

 _He could be hurt._ Her alarm and fear acted like a siren, forcing more sound thoughts from her mind. She could only act.

Only a few steps away from him, she crouched down to his level. From there, she could see his body in more detail. They had him in a simple, light grey hospital gown.

His chest expanded and fell ever so slightly. He was alive, but he looked to be asleep. She wanted to check his face in more detail, but his disheveled hair obscured his features.

She turned around to signal the soldiers of her impending action. They nodded, and raised their guns.

The researcher had told them to inject him with a certain chemical, and it should undo the transformation. Several of the soldiers had that and a sedative as ammunition, while others had more lethal options. Claire didn't want them to have to use any.

Opting for the safest option, she called out to him. "Hey… Can you hear me?"


	3. Are you a Dream, a Nightmare or--

Him.

There was a faint recognition, like waves ebbing and flowing away from him. Some sound, buzzing around his head, trying to penetrate his skull.

 _So annoying._

Someone was there, he thought. He almost wondered who it was. That was, until, he remembered that it didn't matter.

 _I just want to sleep._

After moments of silence, he thought his wish had come true, and that they had gone away.

No, the sound instead changed form. Its new form snapped him out of the haze. He knew this sound. It was slightly different, but, he knew it to the be the same.

 _I could never forget it._

His eyes snapped open, but he remained unable to see. Instead, he craned his neck forward, squinted eyes trying to focus on the blur in front of him.

"—-ve?" His ears didn't seem to be working, but the familiar cadence reassured him nonetheless.

 _Ah, a pleasant dream for once_ , he mused.

There was a buzzing in his throat as he tried to give form to his thoughts. It had been so long since he tried.

"Ah…" He was sure that wasn't what he had meant to say.

He began to feel frustrated. Perhaps this was a nightmare in another way. _She_ had appeared before him, like a candle in the darkness, but he was no longer able to engage. He was…

 _I am…_

 _Not…_

 _The same as you._

—-

Her.

She jumped in surprise when, as suddenly as she had called out, the boy's eyes had snapped open. The bright orange of the irises danced behind his bangs, reminding her of firecrackers.

The action also caused his bangs to shift, allowing her more of a view.

It was then that the world moved forward.

"Steve…?" She did her best to keep tears from spilling over into the question.

He smiled. It was a messy smile, full of teeth, with several being longer and sharper than she remembered, but the meaning reached her.

A moan escaped his lips. _Is he trying to speak? Oh, Steve, what have they done to you?_

There were too many questions in her mind, but no time to ask. She wasn't even sure if he was capable of answering.

She watched his face fall as his expression twisted to sadness. His shaky hand slowly reached out towards her face.

 _Ah… It's just the same as then._ The final moments before his death flashed behind her eyes: his hand pulling hers against his cheek as he caressed her face.

 _No. Not this time._ Somewhere in her mind, she knew how foolish her action was, but her heart was pulled taut, prone to snap.

She grabbed his securely and pulled it against her face, feeling his slight jerk at the unexpected contact. She then cupped his cheek, moving her body and face right in front of him.

—-

Him.

He wanted to reach her somehow. If he couldn't speak, there were other means of communication.

But the thought of physical contact after everything that had happened still terrified him.

 _If it's just a dream…_ He raised his hand hesitantly, the lack of energy making the action difficult.

 _I can…_ While he thought he had mentally prepared himself for the action, he still jerked in surprise when he felt what he realized was her hand take his and touch his face.

And then, she was right there. Right in front of him. So close, he could breathe her in.

His features had mangled into the shape of joy. _This is a good dream after all._

It was then that he let himself relax into her touch, trusting this memory of Claire manifested to give him reassurance. He nuzzled her hand, moving his cheek back and forth against it. It tickled.

 _Maybe I'm finally dying,_ he wondered vaguely. With this much happiness, he didn't really care.

His fingers moved against her face, the nerve endings exploding in the first pleasant sensation he'd felt in… he didn't even know how long. There was something strange there too, but whatever it was, it didn't matter.

He closed his eyes and exhaled, deeply and fully.

—-

Her.

She watched his surprised features soften, accepting her touch and returning with affectionate kneading.

Only once his eyes closed and he looked truly relaxed did her relief flow, manifesting in a new action of tilting her face against his. Their foreheads touched as she closed her eyes as well, taking in the contented sounds of his breathing.

 _He's okay… Somehow, Steve's okay…_ She knew that further steps had to be taken to protect him, but she didn't want this to end so quickly.

"Steve…" she whispered against him. "I—" But she cut herself off when she heard Steve's breathing become more labored.

She pulled away from his face to check his condition. "Steve?" She called out with care, but all emotion became colored by fear.

His irises had shifted from orange to a deep red, and his fangs were lengthening. _The first steps of the transformation,_ she remembered.

"Steve, stay with me!" She didn't want the soldiers to shoot him, potentially painting the rescue in bad memories. "Please, calm down."

 _Is it even something he can stop?_ Claire had no way of knowing. It wasn't like they had the information to know what ends it naturally. The researcher's notes said that all transformations were triggered by the use of certain drugs.

 _It could also be triggered from a lack of drugs._ It had been several days since anyone had been here to 'care for' the occupants of this facility.

"—aire…" He managed, punctuated by haggard, painful-sounding breaths. She snapped back to the present moment.

"Steve?" Her hands moved to around his shoulders, trying to console him. "Please, breathe."

His eyes had been swallowed by red, his expression knitted in pain and confusion. She made note of his arms, down at his sides, balled in effort.

 _He's trying._

—-

Him.

Once she placed their faces closer did he begin to feel that something was wrong.

He was happy at the action. _So_ happy. But something shifted inside of him. Torrents of pain were unleashed, as if to punish him for his momentary reprieve from hell.

 _Switching between a dream and nightmare has to be a nightmare, right?_ He absentmindedly asked himself. What exactly this was didn't help the current situation.

He thought he heard her say something, but it didn't reach him.

Even if she's fake, Steve never wanted to hurt Claire. She was the one person he could not let himself harm.

 _Even if they make me go entirely insane,_ he thought, hoping that the very act of thinking it proved his sanity, _I will never hurt— "—aire..."_

He quickly moved his arms to his side, digging the lengthening claws into his palms. It was then that he felt hands on his shoulders.

 _So warm…_ He wanted to smile, but the mess of fangs caused any sudden expressions to cut his flesh.

 _Please,_ he hoped mostly to himself, _stop._

He didn't have a memory of any instance of an experiment ending with him being able to force the shift to stop.

 _If that's the case,_ he raised his arms, careful to keep his claws in his own flesh.

—-

Her.

Claire didn't register the event. Suddenly, she was falling backwards. Did Steve push her?

An order was shouted, and she heard it. "Brandy, shoot!"

The sound of the shot stopped her world all over again. She had no idea which soldier had which ammunition.

"Steve!" She screamed, throat raw from the force, catching herself on the ground with one hand. Using that same hand, she pushed off towards him again.

He had stopped, seemingly frozen in movement. Both he and Claire looked at the source of it: a needle in his arm. His eyes began to close, and he slumped backwards.

Claire reached out to catch him, cradling his limp body close to her.

She turned around. "What did you shoot him with!?" She accused, knowingly unfair.

One of the soldiers stepped forward. Brandy, she guessed. "Just a tranquilizer," he tried to reassure her. "We hoped unconsciousness would also stop the transformation..." Another chimed in: "You're welcome!"

Claire was angry, but she knew it wasn't justified. She looked down at Steve, and saw that the transformation had regressed. She had no way of knowing if he could have stopped it on his own. It might not be possible. The soldiers did the right thing.

She lifted him as she got up. "Thank you," it came out slightly bitter despite her rationalization. She paused to breathe deeply. "You did what you deemed safest for the situation." Securing her hold on him, she added, "How long will he be out for?"

"About ten minutes. Not long enough." Another huffed. "We have to secure him."

Claire stopped, defeated. "You mean put him in chains." She held him closer, protectively. "He'll get scared! We have no idea what they did to him here. We need to be careful not to cause him any more trauma." She swallowed. "We were supposed to keep this a rescue."

"Listen," the captain of the soldiers said, in his best attempt at reassurance. "I'm sorry but you're not the most reliable source of what's best for him right now. You're biased. It might be a lengthy process to get him acclimated to people and society again—If he even can be."

She knew that. She feared it. Finding Steve alive would only be the first step in a messy process. Nothing good could have happened here.

Claire traced the features of his face as she held him. The ease with which she could do so was a testament to just how thin he was now.

 _I hoped to save you, to give you only pleasant memories from now on._ She placed her forehead against his once more. _Please, believe that I will do all I can to make that happen._

It was foolish, and already disproven, but she had vowed to save him. She would protect him from the world in any way she could.


	4. Holding onto Reality

The medics looked over Steve as his arms and legs were restrained in a reinforced bed they had brought just for the occasion. His complexion had improved, no doubt due to being given a steady dosage of nutrients and liquids. Claire sat nearby, ready for the moment he would wake.

It had been hours. He hadn't woken up, thanks to a consistent stream of sleeping drugs. She wanted only to speak to him, but knew it was best that he sleep through any tests, lest another transformation trigger.

She wanted to touch him: make sure she wasn't going mad. She saw him die, of that she was sure. All breath had ceased.

 _His blood stopped flowing._ She knew there was only one way that could happen. Any possible reasons he could be here were all she could chew on as she watched the tests.

One of the medics approached her side, alerting her to the current situation.

"None of the patients are cause for immediate danger. Transport is to commence soon, ma'am," a melodic voice cooed.

She looked up at them, weariness apparent in both of their features. Everyone was tired.

"Thanks, Miriam," she sighed, looking back to Steve. "You think we'll get any rest at the hospital?"

Miriam the medic smiled, her excitement at the prospect of rest apparent. "I sure hope so."

They had to be safe. Everyone was to stay the night at a special hospital, while the patients rested and were relocated.

Most were set to go to other facilities. Those with the prospect for rehabilitation would be set on that path, each given a team for support. Others less likely for recovery would still be given options. Some could go on to be soldiers for events just like these, given enough training. And others… Others would break.

 _It always happens,_ she had become nearly dulled to it.

Stepping up, she walked to Steve's side. A team was already moving him out of the building. She waved at Miriam, and followed.

 _In Steve's case…_ She had pulled a few strings.

She just hoped it would be enough.

—-

Him.

The events replayed in a smoky, murky darkness.

He was dying again, the familiar sensation creeping down his spine. It would tear him away from her. The cruel pain had broken his body past the point of repair.

 _A nightmare after all,_ he nearly laughed.

He noted that she held him as his consciousness faded, and smiled.

Steve was happy that she would do such a thing, but, of course she would. She was his dream, after all. The one part of it that had gone almost as he wanted.

 _Just, I wanted to hold you._ He tried to tell her that, even if she wasn't there, but the entity known as himself evaporated into smoke, melting into the rest of everything.

Only the sentiment remained, permeated the entirety of all.

 _I wanted to hold you._

—-

Her.

She stayed with him in the van. She stayed with him in the hospital.

There was a short window of time she needed tests of her own, but as soon as they ended, she returned back to his room. Back to the chair by his bedside.

The patients from the facility were all given guarded rooms, but Steve's boasted the most. He was the one who had the largest capacity for damage, after all.

He had been asleep the entire time. Soon, the doctor had said, he should wake up. They had a supply of the anti-transformation drug for use at a moment's notice, just in case.

"He's going to be very out of it," the doctor warned. "Don't be expecting much just yet."

Claire nodded and stroked Steve's hair. She wanted to undo the unpleasantness of earlier, and hoped the whole affair hadn't been traumatic.

She looked around the room, noting all of the guards. They were silent, all stoic with their weapons. Her sight ended on the metal keeping his abdomen flat against the bed, incapable of easy escape.

Claire winced. _It's not the kind of thing I want him to wake up to._ Suddenly, she was glad that he wouldn't be the most lucid.

She would ease him into normalcy.

—-

Several minutes later, he stirred, snapping Claire to attention. Unknowingly, her breath became impossible to regulate as she searched his face.

Slowly, so slowly she thought herself insane, his eyes opened. The orange firecrackers searched the room at a languid pace. His expression remained neutral, groggy. Based on how many drugs he had pumping through his veins, she wasn't surprised.

Still holding her breath, she wanted to wait for him to notice her. When that didn't happen, she remembered the soldiers. Steve had been staring at one, his face unmoving. The soldier stared back.

 _Oh, no, no, no,_ she wasn't going to let this happen. "S-Steve," she began. His eyes found hers.

 _Oh…_ She suddenly realized, as his unblinking gaze settled on her for what seemed an eternity: she didn't know what to say to him.

She had rehearsed this very scenario, or something similar enough, too many times to count, and was filled to bursting with questions. And yet, as his eyes gazed into hers, every word escaped her.

Slight recognition sparked behind his irises, and his eyebrows formed a crease.

Claire could only hold his gaze. His lips parted, accompanied by an immediate set of rasps.

"Ea—" he began, but then stopped, looking down for several moments before trying again. "Re—" he tried. Looking defeated, he took a deep breath, and faced Claire once more.

"Re… al?" The question punctuated the look of worry weaving its way into his features.

She had to bite her lip to keep from screaming her frustrations at a world where this could happen. He had doubted the feasibility of his own rescue.

"Steve…" She lifted her right hand, deliberately keeping her movements slow, so his delayed reactions could still register them. Placing it on his blanket, she slid the appendage just in front of his left hand. She kept it there.

Claire tried to smile as his eyes flicked from her hand to hers, questioningly. "See for yourself."

Steve looked back down at her hand, his fingers reactivating like rusty cogs long dormant. They didn't reach out to meet hers, but instead flexed closely.

She searched his face. The crease was deeper, as his attention was given only to her hand.

 _Is he… afraid to find out?_

"Steve," she forced her voice into the shape of normalcy. "Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." She didn't dare move her hand. If he needed time, he was more than welcome to as much as he needed.

His eyes tentatively met hers once more, before stretching one finger quickly against her. A leap of faith. She reflexively encased her fingers around that hand, sad but understanding of his jolted reaction. He didn't remove his hand.

"See?" She rethought her words. "Feel?"

After a while, his hand shifted, allowing his fingers to tentatively curl around her hand. The force he used was more than she expected, but she bit through the momentary pain. He glanced again at her face, features finally unknitting. She watched him as his eyes slowly closed, softening his grip but never taking his gaze from their linked hands.

Steve had fallen asleep like that, and Claire did not dare remove her hand. She didn't want to, but the action proved rather limiting in her range of motion. Smiling to herself about such a wonderful problem, she laid her face on the bed, never breaking their physical connection. Claire fell blissfully asleep, despite the silent army never looking away from the two.

—-

Him.

Dispelling the darkness, Steve's eyes were met with a dim, hazy light. It nonetheless overwhelmed him.

 _This isn't my cell… Where…_ His eyes searched through muck and grime, settling on a vaguely human-like mass.

 _Who…_ he struggled and strained. _Who is that…?_

After a few moments, he heard _her_ voice again, immediately moving his face to find its source.

His vision focused, and her features found form. He suddenly felt more uncomfortable.

Steve's dreams used to exist outside of his cell, daring to hope whenever he fell unconscious. They stopped roaming years ago.

And yet, here he was. It was a nondescript place, the walls a pale white and the air thick with a medicinal smell. It made him think of his mother, holding his hand as cruel nurses would inject him.

He hadn't thought of his family in so long, and the associations were too painful to dwell further on. No, he was more interested in _who or what_ was in front of him now.

If this really was a fever dream, then it would be a dream with a dream sequence. _Maybe a dying mind gets more creative?_ That didn't make much sense to him. It should only degrade into less and less than it was before.

 _Then… maybe…_ He didn't want to hope. She was silent, timidly existing under his scrutiny.

"Ea—" he began, but then stopped, looking down for several moments before trying again.

The dream had already placated him enough, he told himself. To actually _hope_ was a different matter altogether. He'd given up. To fight again, only for it to be fruitless, would send him crashing down below.

"Re—" he fought, taking a deep breath and solidifying his resolve.

"Re… al?" He finished, terrified.

He heard her call his name, and offer her hand. He was torn between denying how much he wanted her to be real. Even a dream is enough.

 _Even a…_ His fingers began to move, but he still couldn't touch her hand.

He couldn't take his eyes off it. He couldn't fool himself this much with physical sensation, could he?

 _Then… earlier…_ The events of earlier came back. He barely registered Claire's new reassurances. He could only think of how he had felt her then.

His eyes flicked to hers, burning them into his memory. Best to be safe, right?

Worst case scenario, he realized, he would be just as hopeless as before. Realizing that, he couldn't bear not to try.

He took a leap of faith.

She didn't disappear. Instead, her hand moved and encapsulated his own.

 _She can't be real, she can't be real,_ but he knew that she was.

"See?" A pause. "Feel?" He finally accepted it, and couldn't help but grip her hand with more intensity than planned. He looked at her face again, hoping she knew he was sorry.

Transfixed by the tether to reality, his eyes returned to their hands. He wanted to think more about what all of this could mean, but he was too tired. The adrenaline was leaving him.

 _It isn't so bad… to leave it like this… just for now…_

His world drifted into the most pleasant blackness.


	5. A New Drug

Her.

Claire woke up to shaking and the sound of metal scraping together. Moving on reflex, she stood up to survey the situation. Steve's convulsing body was now restrained to the bed at the elbows and knees, which explained why she hadn't been moved. His blooded screams filled the room.

"Steve!?" She backed up and then remembered the armed soldiers.

"What happened!?" She called to the nearest one, his gun raised and aimed.

"Doctor came in a while back," he kept his voice calm despite everything. "Told us that they'd be giving him new drugs."

"What!?"

An older soldier, most likely their leader, added: "You can ask her more later," his tone lighter, no doubt from experience. "She said this might happen."

Claire looked over to Steve, his shoulders weak from forceful breaths. Reptilian pupils targeted her, but their helplessness betrayed the humanity that still lie within.

"She told us that, if everything goes well, this will pass without a transformation," the leader continued. "We were instructed only to act if he turns, so please do not worry."

She felt completely helpless. "Hold on, Steve," she urged in a broken voice. The desire to hold him welled up within her: to do anything to lessen his pain.

Claire didn't move. Steve's strength became astronomical when transforming, so being within arm's reach when he wasn't in control was insurmountably dangerous. She got carried away earlier, losing rationality to emotion, and was saved only by Steve pushing her away. The same action couldn't be counted on twice.

His voice became more and more strained, curving around growing canines. The force with which he shook caused the bed to violently hit the wall, soon leaving a dent. His eyes would strain closed, but almost instantly forcibly open as renewed shouts gave outlet to his torment. His arms would reach and flex without direction, ending balled and tearing into the bedding.

His struggle made Claire feel utterly hopeless.

Claire barely registered the new person entering the room: a woman in white.

"Are you the doctor?" Claire accused. "Why did you change his medication?"

The doctor looked at the poor, suffering boy, simply shaking her head. "After doing tests, there were some suggested changes," she glanced at Claire. "The new formula should be more consistent in the long-run, but seems to be taking time for _it_ to acclimate to."

" _Him_ ," she almost hissed.

The doctor looked away. "Him. Excuse me," her tone stagnated. "He hasn't transformed fully, so it seems to be working as predicted so far," she couldn't hide her pride.

Claire grit her teeth. _If it really is better for him in the long-run…_ Her rationalization fell to pieces after looking at Steve's pleading eyes. Refusing to look away, she placed a hand on his forehead, stroking him as gently as she could against his movements.

The doctor and soldiers looked startled, but calmed after seeing the effect. Steve was thrashing less, either out of concern for Claire or reassurance from her actions.

She had been watching the range of his movements, careful not to enter them, and while still not the safest option, she felt worse doing nothing.

Several minutes later, Steve quieted. He fell unconscious again, his teeth shrinking and muscles relaxing. Claire didn't remove her hand as she faced the doctor.

"How is this better?"

"The previous drug required a higher dosage, no doubt from him becoming more and more tolerant," the doctor's monotone resumed. "Eventually, it wasn't going to be effective at all."

Claire nodded, urging for more.

The doctor understood. "This new stuff is much more effective at lower doses," her tone became higher. "He won't even need a constant supply." Genuine excitement danced off of her words now. "Just a daily injection of this should keep transformations at bay."

A pause. "You've figured out the triggers for transformations?" Claire asked, hopeful.

"No doubt not all of them," the doctor sighed. "But, we do know that the majority are triggered either by withdrawal from the previous drug, or instigated by another we found," she supplied. "They were controlled," she stared cold into Claire's eyes.

"He was being controlled…" Claire's words diminished to a whisper, despite herself. _Were they trying to turn him into a new breed of super soldier?_ She shook off the unpleasant thoughts.

"We will of course need to watch him further," she smiled. "Just to be safe."

Claire shivered. _She is almost exactly like the scientist who did this._ The doctor seemed to enjoy this part of her job a little too much for Claire's liking.

She glanced at Steve, his face at peace for the moment, then returned a resolute gaze to the doctor. "As long as the previous plan is still doable."

The doctor smiled even wider. "Oh, but of course it is."

Claire couldn't shake the speck of dread in an otherwise clean glass of water. _This really will be a messy process._

—-

That afternoon, Steve hadn't regained consciousness. Claire had wanted to stay near him, but was informed of a phone call from her boss. She was higher in the ranks of her organization, but even she had people to answer to. Claire nodded and stroked Steve's hair before leaving the room.

She retreated to a corner of the hall where she picked up the phone. "Redfield," the voice emitted, locking their dynamic in place.

"Sir," Claire confirmed.

"I've received reports of your behavior during the recent rescue mission." No discernible emotion from the words could be detected, unless they had been lost during the conversion process.

Claire didn't speak, sure that he would soon tell her his appraisal.

"You ignored safety regulations and touched one of the subjects, putting both you and everyone else at risk," he breathed. "You knew," he didn't slow. "You knew that suits were to be utilized before any specimen contact."

Claire didn't respond.

"And then," he asserted, red coloring his tone. "You reprimanded the soldiers for doing their duty."

A pause. Claire kept listening.

"Listen, Redfield," the voice sighed. "I am aware that you had a personal connection with one of the subjects, which has clearly affected your ability to remain impartial and rational."

Claire bit her lip, angry that she couldn't fight back. He was right.

"You've been an indispensable member for years now, and we of course won't get rid of you over this, but," Her breath caught in anticipation. "We might have to rethink our previous arrangement for him."

"What?" Claire let out. "No!" She cried. "Sir—"

"Wait," the voice boomed. "I haven't said that we will yet. I'm merely calling your attention to recent actions."

Claire practically tripped over her words. "I can be better, sir, it—it won't happen again," she pleaded. "I—"

The voice chuckled. "Listen to yourself. Where is your head?"

Claire was stunned into silence, reflecting on just how different she had been and still was acting. "I apologize, sir," she breathed, calmer now. "Please, just give me a chance to be more mindful."

Long seconds passed. "Alright," the voice offered. "But, if anything like this happens again, it will be obvious that being around you is not within his best interest…"

"I understand," Claire echoed.

"See that you do." A click.

Claire put down the phone, leaving her hand on it as she pondered how best to move forward.

 _I am the best thing for him._


	6. Can You Hear Me?

—-

Merge.

Steve didn't wake up until 50 hours later, in the middle of the night. Because of his changing medication, it was decided to keep all restraints in place.

He slowly opened his eyes, a darkness there to greet him. But, he could still see clearly. He always could, since the day he 'died'. Shaking the grogginess away, he saw Claire.

Seated so close-by, she seemed to be asleep, leaning against the wall. It didn't look comfortable at all.

Steve was suddenly keenly aware of the soldiers. He lowered his face, feeling their stares surround him. They didn't move, but he could hear their breathing hasten slightly. _They know I'm awake._

He didn't really care. Had they wanted to shoot him, they would have already. Feeling satisfied with this conclusion, he faced Claire anew.

"Cl—" he tried, but his voice caught at the same time his arm did.

"Huh…?" He wondered hollowly, looking down at his stubborn arm. _Move, damnit._ He tried his other arm. _No good._

He lurched forward, and realized that none of his body would listen to him. _No, no, wait._

He shook his head, and with it, he hoped that the last of the haze of sleep would exit his mind. _Restraints._

Steve sighed, suddenly feeling their heavy weight over and around him. His arms fell limply down, and his head sunk.

He was disappointed. He couldn't help it. As much as he wanted everything to suddenly be different, it wasn't so simple.

This just served as a truthful reminder. _I'm…_ "Fuck," emphasizing the 'k' in disgust.

Moments turned into minutes as Steve focused only on breathing. _In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In…_

He held the last breath. "Claire," he exhaled quietly. She didn't stir.

It was then that he noticed the newfound ease with which he found his voice. _It wasn't this easy before,_ he wondered, before his eyes found the I.V. drip inserted into his hand. He vaguely pondered if that was the reason, but soon felt alone in his echoing head.

"Claire?" He tried again, slightly louder. Nothing. "Cl-Claire, please." His voice trembled, still barely above a whisper. Steve managed to look up at her, but she remained unchanged.

He stopped to inhale deeply. _In. Out. In._ "Claire," he asserted, more forcefully now. _Out._ His shoulders relaxed, shaping the tone he tried to create.

"Come on, sleepyhead," he breathed, the corners of his mouth a vague smile. His voice became a complete mimicry of those carefree days.

Claire began to react and mumble. "Mm…" But her eyes remained closed.

Steve felt encouraged, breath creating a more solid foundation for his words. "Whoa," he smiled wider. "Is that drool?" He then looked closer. _It actually is._

He bent forward, and a long-forgotten feeling soon billowed from within him, causing his head to fall back.

"Hahaha!" Steve nearly forgot this feeling.

"...S….Shut up…" Claire murmured and groaned. Her eyes finally opened.

Steve's watering eyes met hers.

Claire did a double take, and then nearly jumped forward. "Steve!" She cried, leaning over the bed's edge.

"Is this a dream?" She asked. "I was getting so worried. You weren't waking up, and—"

"Hey," Steve interrupted coolly.

"Huh?" Claire questioned.

"We, uh, haven't had a conversation yet," Steve looked up and away, suddenly overwhelmed by her onslaught of ramblings. "That's how they're supposed to start," he smiled and glanced back.

Claire's perplexed expression melted into a furrowed smile, relenting. "Long time no see," she quietly cooed. In the back of her mind, she crossed off the fear that he might have trouble speaking again.

"Yeah," Steve looked down, pondering.

Claire didn't stop. "Do you know how long that was?"

Steve frowned. "I, uh, I don't really want to," he gulped. "Talk about that sort of... stuff," he hurriedly added. "Ya know?"

"Oh, I…" Claire practically tripped over her tongue.

"It's okay," Steve smiled again. "These already aren't the most normal circumstances, so," he weakly tried to lift his restrained arms.

Claire paled. "I'm sorry. Those, they're—" She breathed. "They changed your medication, so until it's known how you will react to it over time," Claire looked straight into his eyes. "It's best to protect you."

Steve wondered at her choice of words. Surely everyone else were the ones needing the protecting?

He smiled. "I get it."

Silence filled the room. The two didn't know what to talk about if they had to avoid anything actively unpleasant.

Claire gripped the bed's edge. "Are you hungry?"

Steve's ears perked up. "Food?"

Claire smiled, finally finding something to focus on. "Yeah, food. You haven't eaten in," she paused, "a while."

Steve waved the hand with various needles attached. "That's what you think," he joked.

Claire grimaced. "That isn't food." She took out her cellphone. "What would you like? I'm sure I can get something—" And then her plans fell apart. "At 3am. Oh," she breathed.

"Don't worry about it," Steve lied. He really did want something to sink his teeth into. He felt antsy, and without his normal drugs to dull his senses to the world around him, he was dying to interact with it. His arms pulled at his restraints without being able to help himself.

Claire raised her hand to touch them but stopped. "Do they hurt?"

Steve shook his head. "No," he sighed. "I just want to move a little." He thought again. "The needle doesn't hurt at all, either," he added, even though it did.

Claire looked up at the soldiers and raised a question to them all, "Would it be alright if I remove some of these?"

The leader of the new shift replied. "Just the arms, as long as you're alright with being in danger. We can't shoot him fast enough to save you if anything goes wrong," his tone was sympathetic but nonetheless harsh.

Claire nodded and moved to grab the specific keys for both arm restraints. Each had been created for a different section, so that the subject couldn't fully escape even if they stole one. "Just be careful," another soldier warned before Claire sat back down. "You have to remember that thing isn't human."

Steve's blood ran cold. "Don't ever say that again," Claire commanded, moving the key to Steve's nearest arm.

"Claire, wait, maybe you shouldn't—" Steve protested, but his arm was already free. He kept it as still as he could, more aware of the danger Claire was in than ever. "This is enough," he urged.

"It's okay," Claire hushed him, freeing his other arm. "Even if you tried, you can't get the others off," she reassured. "And if all else fails," she gestured towards the soldiers. "They have counter drugs to inject you with." She fumbled, worried he might become afraid. "That's why you're safe, so please don't worry."

Steve shook his head. "But what about you?" he replied, still confused about her word choice.

Claire sat back down. "I can take care of myself," she smiled. "But, I don't think it will ever come to that." She sounded so sure.

Steve grabbed the bedding, pulling it into knots despite trying his best not to move. "You can't count on that," he exhaled hollowly.

"Steve—" Claire interjected. He moved his face to look at her. "Is it okay if I touch you?" _If we have to keep dancing around things, I at least want to comfort you how I can._

He could feel a burn reach his cheeks, spreading outwards. He was suddenly grateful for the dim light, so that no one could see.

His breath caught. "I, um." He had to look anywhere but at her.

"It's okay if you don't want to," she hurriedly added, feeling awkwardly rejected.

"No, I—" In his haste to deny her implications, he reached out to touch her arm.

Claire looked down at his hand, trembling as he clung to her. It didn't hurt.

The two stayed like that for a while, both feeling too afraid to move.

 _I haven't returned the action yet,_ Claire thought, worried Steve might feel hurt.

"Does being touched frighten you?" She tried to nonchalantly ask.

Steve was still looking away, but his hand held fast. "I think I'm okay right now," he breathed.

Claire moved his hand off of her arm, and Steve questioningly faced her. Taking advantage of the perfect angle, she stood up and put her face beside his, resting on his shoulder. Her arms pulled his torso slightly forward, against his restraints, and linked behind his back. He let out a surprised, "Whoa," his arms emphasizing bewilderment out and away from her.

"I missed you," Claire whispered into his ear. Steve looked around chaotically, finally to the soldiers who were now aiming at him. He shrugged helplessly, trying his best to convey that this was not in any way his plan.

Claire clung against him, showing no signs of weakening her grip. It didn't hurt him. If anything, it even felt slightly comforting.

Steve longed to relax and return her hug, but even the slightest miscalculation in his strength or deregulation of his grip could potentially wound her.

"Claire," he breathed against her neck. _This is way too dangerous,_ he thought, awakening to the realization that he wasn't completely averse to the idea of grazing her throat with his canines. He turned his face away. "Please,"

Claire stiffened, and immediately moved away from him, but keeping her seat on the bedside. Her face was down, shameful. "I'm sorry," she repeated, defeated.

Steve shook his head. " _I'm_ sorry," he raised a hand to raise her chin slightly. She returned his gaze. "I was wrong about how much I could handle right away."

Claire smiled. "This is fine?" She asked, gesturing to his hand.

Steve mirrored her expression. "Yeah," he sighed contentedly. "I guess it is." Little did she know how difficult that small action really was.

Claire placed her hand over his, not noticing his skin jump slightly. "No rush," she added. "One day, you'll be able to."

Steve's smile felt hollow. As it was, he didn't really think that was possible.


	7. I Will Wait for You

—-

Claire gave Steve the remote and all subsequent channel control. He was at first apprehensive, being unable to recognize any of the programs, but eventually calmed after finding a now-retro 90s station. Claire smiled, and the two silently relived bygone days until falling asleep.

Steve woke up at 9:30AM, of which he hoped was the same day. Sleep-addled eyes spied Claire near the doorway speaking with someone he didn't know. He made a vague note that his arms were once again restrained.

"He needs to be told about things," the monotone voice supplied.

A belligerent Claire retorted, "I don't think he's ready. Last night, he didn't even want to talk about how long it's—"

"It doesn't matter what he _wants,_ " the other voice, a woman he thought, interrupted. "Not bringing it up is impossible."

"I just meant more time would be ideal," her tone was biting. "None of this can be easy."

Steve coughed. Being able to hear them so obviously talk about him made him uncomfortable.

"Steve!" Claire reacted. She was slightly embarrassed that he had been listening.

The other person came to Claire's side, and he could see that she was a tall, tan woman hidden beneath a shapeless white lab coat. A doctor, he supposed. He noted that her black hair was in a meticulous bun, her face adorned with frameless glasses. He gulped as only from the note of her features did he realize that he hadn't properly observed Claire yet.

Sure, he had looked at her, stared at her even, but it was always through a fog of memories: what he was expecting to see. To acknowledge any changes to her, he would first have to acknowledge that time had lapsed.

He bit his lip. _Like she said, I have to deal with this some time…_ He wanted to put it off forever.

"What things do I need to be told?" Steve asked in nearly a whisper.

The doctor stepped forward. "About your condition," she offered in a higher tone. "Would you like to speak about this now?"

Steve nodded. If it had to be brought up, the sooner the better.

The doctor returned the action, then facing Claire silently.

"What?" Claire accused, feeling suddenly alienated. Then she understood the hint, and her face shifted to that of pain. She turned to Steve, evening her tone. "You want me to leave?"

Steve had to think about it. Claire was both deeply comforting and horribly frightening. Facing her meant having a tether to the past, but also coming to terms that things could never be the same again. He knew that, he repeatedly reassured himself, but he also knew that he had been hiding from the entire truth ever since what he assumed to be his rescue. It was time to face it, but perhaps not with Claire. Not yet.

He ran away from her gaze. "Sorry," was his only answer.

The room fell into silence for ten long seconds, with Claire fighting past her feelings of betrayal. "Okay," she said, trying to smile. "I'll go get us some breakfast in the meantime." She was searching for any distraction possible. "Would you like anything in particular?" Her strained question hung.

Steve did feel bad that he was no doubt hurting her, and to ask anything extra of her sat poorly with his conscience, but… "A breakfast muffin with sausage and bacon?" He asked, peeking at her through the corner of his eyes, hopefulness coloring his tone.

Claire genuinely smiled at his request. It was so telling. "You got it," she winked and turned to leave.

"Oh, Claire?" Steve called.

Claire stopped and twisted her torso around to catch a glimpse. "Yeah?"

"Can I have a doughnut too?"

She sighed playfully. "Of course. I'll bring you a whole feast," she turned again.

"Claire?" Steve called again, quieter now.

She smiled to herself, turning to face his new request. "Yes?"

"Thanks," Steve hesitantly met her eyes, but then shyly looked away.

Claire had to quickly turn away from what was too adorable of an action. "Uh, don't worry about it!" She quickly added and practically leapt out of the room.

 _Steve will let me in when he's ready,_ she reassured herself, newly positive from his words. _I'll be ready._


	8. Answers to Questions I Never Asked

—-

Steve was still staring off, thinking about how he could have handled the situation with Claire better. The doctor coughed, and Steve snapped out of his bubble. "Uh," he replied plainly.

She carried on. "Would you also like the soldiers to leave the room?"

Steve noticed a few of them jerk in response. "Isn't that dangerous?"

She nearly laughed. "You're restrained, are about to be given your daily dosage, and they'll be right outside the door," she took gloves and a needle out of a nearby drawer. "I trust my work," she proudly stated as she removed the possible air bubbles. "This will hurt a bit." She approached him.

Steve gulped, closing his eyes and looking away. _I hate needles._ Had he known this was going to happen, he'd have asked Claire to hold his hand during. He blushed. _No, no, she would laugh!_ … _Not to mention that I might break her hand in fear…_ Steve grimaced at the likelihood of it.

"Hold still and think of Claire," the doctor offered in a deeper tone. Steve wanted to ask her what she meant by that, but was too busy yelping in pain as the needle pierced his neck, feeling a cold rush through his veins. He grit his teeth and waited.

"I already removed the needle, you know," the doctor said while applying a cotton ball to his neck, keeping it in place with tape. Steve hesitantly opened his eyes. Immediately throwing away the gloves, the doctor washed her hands and sat down next to his bedside. "One moment," she told him.

She turned to face the soldiers. "Go guard outside of the door," turning her back on their shuffled movements, she met Steve's puzzled expression. "Shall we proceed?"

"Uh," Steve searched for the words. "Shouldn't we start with introductions?"

The doctor tilted her head. "Navya Ahuja, and you're Steve Burnside," she offered dryly. "Now, shall we proceed?"

Steve didn't really know how to deal with this person, but he supposed he had to appreciate how she got things done. He took a deep breath and nodded. "Yeah."

Navya took a small notebook from one of her endless pockets, flipping through until she arrived at the page she desired. "Name of the subject: Steve Burnside," she began coolly.

 _Subject…_ Steve felt his stomach drop.

She continued, undeterred. "Age: Twenty-nine."

A twinge. _It's been that long…?_

"Year of 'death': 1998," she glanced up at him. "That's the interesting bit." Steve saw the barest glimpse of a smile pulling at her mouth, while gravity seemed to be straining his own. "Witness reports were that your blood stopped flowing."

Steve didn't respond.

"That's not to be unexpected. You're—" she stopped. "Well," Navya shrugged. "What we do know is that your body was taken by Albert Wesker, and that they sold your strain of the T-Veronica virus on the black market."

Steve perked his head up. "What happened to the people it was given to…?"

"Most died," Navya supplied. "Horribly." Steve grimaced. "But," Navya offered. "One of them was fine, and she's part of the reason we have an idea of what to do with you," her tone sparkled.

Steve hesitantly faced her, his expression perplexed but curious. "Both she and Alexia Ashford survived the virus." Navya was flipping through her notes again. "The virus needs a fifteen year period for the host to fully accept it," she stopped. "And it's been twelve for you."

Steve wanted to shirk away from her stare.

"Alexia did this by entering a crionic sleep, while the other received organ transplants." She eyed him. "What did they do to you, I wonder?"

Steve searched his memories without meaning to. He felt ill.

"It looks like a hack job, where they tried all sorts of things on you." She continued. "Organ transplants, several different drugs, forcing you to transform, stopping it, all but shutting your mental faculties down," she kept listing off. "And yet, here you are." Her fascination couldn't be hidden.

Steve eyed her warily. "I don't know what they did to me," Steve's voice was breaking.

"I, I just, remember it either hurting— Hurting so much that I couldn't bear it, or, or feeling nothing," he struggled.

"But," he calmed his breathing. "But sometimes, there was someone who would speak to me," he recalled. "I could never see him, but he would ask me things." Steve's eyes sporadically searched the room, seeing nothing. "I think he was checking if I was still 'something'."

Navya nodded, scribbling down new notes on virgin pages. "Hm," she started. Steve looked to her. "I will be honest and tell you that I'm not sure exactly what you are." She faced him. "Your DNA is undeniably that of Steve Burnside, but you could always be a clone." Steve tried not to react on theories, but the question of his validity stung regardless.

She continued. "You were able to overcome the effects of the virus not long after being injected with it, but that was through sheer determination." Steve nodded, a short flashback of Claire in trouble appearing behind his eyes.

"That wouldn't work for the long-term. Your brain would have suffered irreparable damage." She flipped a page. "There is nothing in the drugs we found that could prevent this." Steve waited and listened, heart thrumming in his ears.

"It could have been through the organ transplants, but your scars aren't numerous enough to account for how many you would really need." She flipped to another page. "The other girl's body was completely covered."

Steve couldn't handle it anymore. "Maybe my body has accepted it?"

"No," Navya shot him down. "You're still suffering from accidental transformations." Flip. "The second one was caused by a combination of withdrawal from your nigh-continuous supply, and your body's initial dislike of the new type."

"Wasn't the first also withdrawal?" Steve asked.

"I was going to ask you more about that," Navya stated. "What do you remember before the mutation took place?"

Steve looked down. "It's hazy. I wasn't very aware of my surroundings."

"Just try," she breathed, no doubt her best attempt at being patient.

Steve closed his eyes and relived the moments. He remembered the cold, soundless room being invaded. He remembered thinking that she was just a dream, thinking he was dying. He remembered not even minding those circumstances, getting to see her again. And he remembered all those years ago, when he 'died'. Steve had wanted to touch her again, and he remembered his dulled shock at her grabbing his hand and mirroring the action. His abdomen tightened. _That was it._

"Did you remember?" Navya called. Steve nodded, and faced her with worn eyes.

"It wasn't withdrawal," he stated, needing to hear it himself.

"I thought so," Navya replied as she wrote something down. "The drugs could either trigger or keep you from transforming, but you weren't on the drugs then." She paused. "And, had it been withdrawal, you would have resumed the mutation upon waking up." She sounded proud. "They didn't inject you with the anti-transformation drug, after all."

Steve knew what was coming.

Navya continued. "The timing is too perfect, so it made me curious, and your story confirms it." She pointed her pen at Steve. "Emotional stimuli is your trigger."

Steve's stomach reconfigured into a channel of knots. "But both Claire and you mentioned new drugs." His tone was pleading. "Can it stop the transformations, regardless of the trigger?"

Navya wagged a finger. "Not so fast. We're still talking about your body being used to the virus." She sighed. "The short answer is that until you can transform at will, your body and the virus are still at odds."

Steve paused. "How will that happen?"

"With time," Navya supplied. "All previous successful accounts support this. You need fifteen years."

Steve waited. Navya continued. "But, of course, we don't know how long you've even had this body." The knot became tighter, bile finding its way into his mouth. He swallowed. Navya took a momentary notice of his pale face. "If you are the same Steve, then it should only take three more years."

Steve looked down. "But you don't know how they kept me sane until this point," he added hollowly.

Navya nodded. "Exactly, but going back to your previous question: we are going to try."

Steve raised his head tentatively.

"There are no guarantees, obviously. This is mostly uncharted territory," she paused. "But, my team and I have already improved on your drug to the point that it should remain a daily dose." She practically puffed out her chest. "Not a bad start."

Steve wanted to be reassured, but had too much worry. "Will it stop the triggers?" He pressed.

Navya sighed. "That's all down to testing." She flipped a page. "We will need to watch you in a controlled, safe environment. Should anything go wrong, we will pivot our strategy or means of treating you."

Steve's hands balled at the bedding. "Why go through so much trouble for me?"

Navya's matter-of-fact response made him shudder. "It's for science, not you."

Steve's stomach churned and churned, making his mind go blank. "I'm done," he declared.

Navya nodded and got up to leave. "Oh," she pinged. "I forgot to tell you how you transfer the virus."

Steve's ears perked up. He had completely forgotten about the possibility.

"It's through mixing blood and ...other fluids," she teased. "But saliva is fine, unless someone drinks several barrels of it."

Steve was too busy blushing from her roundabout way of referring to sex. He had her pegged as someone who might speak about that sort of thing clinically. Vaguely, he heard her leave the room.

Steve had just begun to see Navya as more of a person, when suddenly she made it abundantly clear that she did not do the same for him. After the soldiers entered the room, he asked one if they could turn on the television.

He passed the time watching shows from the 90s, pretending he wasn't there or now.

—-


	9. Now What?

—-

Around an hour later, Claire returned with several bags nearly blocking her view. "Where's the table?" She called out from behind the massive load.

"Uh," was all Steve could muster, not entirely sure how he could face her after excluding her.

She sat them down on his lap and side, growing impatient. "There we go." She sat and grabbed a few napkins.

Steve stared blankly at her, his arms unable to reach anything.

"Oh, right," Claire realized. "Could I have one of the keys again?" _One?_ Steve thought. He didn't mind, but this was a shift from before he just couldn't ignore.

 _Last time, having both arms freed made him feel uncomfortable, so…_ Claire was thinking.

She then unlocked his right arm and then took her seat, offering him a nearby bag. "This has your muffin in it," she smiled.

"Claire," Steve ventured carefully. "Are you upset?"

She placed the bag down again, and looked to the upper right. "What? N-no."

"Sorry about that—Earlier. I'm just," he struggled. "Everything is different. I've been… confused."

Claire gripped the bedside. "I'm sorry too. That I've been so…" she trailed off. "Intense?" Steve finished for her.

Claire glared playfully, agreeing. "Yeah, I suppose so." She continued. "I was just so happy and worried that..." She smiled. "If you need more time to acclimate to situations and people, I'll wait for you."

He wasn't sure what she meant, whether it was in terms of affection or conversation. Steve still didn't know how Claire felt about him, but their recent interactions felt more akin to an overprotective mother than a friend or lover. The thought saddened him, but looking at her face, he finally saw her _now._ Her eyes had slight lines underneath, no doubt worn by years of stressed expressions. She still put her hair in a ponytail, her bangs framing the sides of her forehead. Her legs were still clad in jeans, while her torso sported a black t-shirt. He also noticed how well both hugged her curves. He shook his head. Maybe she wasn't so different after all.

"Slower is good," he hurriedly offered, a smile arching his features.

Claire nodded. "You got it." A pause. "Now, how about we eat?"

Steve smiled wider, and grabbed the bag she had previously offered. "Sounds good to me."

—-

The next day, Navya deemed it safe that Steve be released. She first informed him of this by announcing that his catheter had been removed. Steve hadn't even noticed he had been 'equipped' with one to begin with. He was still restrained to the bed with Claire was beside him.

"So," Steve began. "What's going to happen to me?" Being able to put it off no longer, he needed to ask.

"Well," Navya replied. "You're going to be put into the care of Claire."

Steve looked between the two of them. "Huh?"

Claire piped up. "I had it set up in advance. Basically," she excitedly added. "We will have an apartment in a special building under some form of surveillance— For safety."

"Special building?" Steve questioned.

"Only soldiers and researchers live there. It's sort of like a hotel." She searched for a better way of describing it. "A hub, if you will."

"It's a place where those in our 'field' can stay when visiting the city," Navya clarified.

"So," Steve wandered. "It's some sort of secret apartment complex with labs and whatever?"

"Pretty much," Claire confirmed. "I already had a place I'd used during a different stay in this city." She looked away. "But this time, it'll need to be a bit larger." She couldn't hide the smile. _Why am I getting embarrassed?_ She wondered.

Steve didn't notice. "Is this usually what's done for people in… similar circumstances to mine?"

"For less extreme cases," Navya interjected. "They're usually sent to specialized facilities for training or therapies. For the more extreme cases," Steve leaned closer. "They tend to stay in labs."

Claire grimaced, but then rushed to comfort Steve. "But you're not that extreme!"

"Yes he is," Navya replied flatly. _This woman… She doesn't understand social cues at all,_ Claire lamented.

Steve's brow furrowed. "Then why?"

Claire turned to him and cast her features in a smile. "I asked for special consideration," Steve's glare made her shrink. "Because I think it might be your best chance for recovery."

"Recovery…" Steve echoed, emptily. _Like there's even a chance of that._

He felt angry, and he couldn't entirely hide it. _How is this any different than the other scientists making decisions for me?_ He knew that deep down, Claire actually believed that this would _help_ him. But to not even _ask_ him.

"Since the building isn't normally used for that, isn't that unfair to everyone else there? What if something goes wrong—"

Navya cut Steve off. "The people there will be prepared for an outbreak, and can take the proper measures to combat it before it reaches the outside world."

Steve bit down on his lower lip hard, but not enough to break the skin. "Shit," he breathed, closing his eyes to calm down. His tongue lapped against the surface, fearful of blood. It could cause contamination, after all.

Claire jerked. "Steve, what's wrong?" She stopped her hand, seeing him shirk away. "I thought you would be happy." She felt wounded.

"I know I shouldn't be upset about this when I'm receiving help, but" he exhaled. "I wish someone had at least _asked_ me what I wanted." His eyes remained fallen.

Claire remained silent. She hadn't meant to hurt him, and yet she ignorantly had once again.

Navya nonchalantly added, "Yes, you shouldn't be upset." Steve shot her a glance. "You're being given a chance that others would kill for, around someone you're comfortable around."

 _Comfortable around…_ Steve thought about it. Maybe that was the issue. That he would be alone with Claire. Did he even know her anymore? Did he ever, really?

"Plus," Navya continued. "You'll have my team and I to help you."

"Will soldiers be there to protect Claire?"

Claire shook off his fears. "There will be fail safes in place, and" she pointed at the gun holstered at her hip. "I can still take care of myself."

Steve grimaced. "You say that but," he looked at it. "What can that really do if I transform fully?"

"That's where this comes in." Navya walked to the table and picked up a box. She brought it to Steve's other side, and began to open it.

Inside was a collar. _Oh, come on._ Steve groaned. "Hold still," Navya commanded, closing it around his strained neck. "There, finished," she declared.

"Now we can remove the restraints," Claire added.

"What?" Steve blurted out. "Why?"

"Basically, this collar will give you your daily dose." Steve really did not like the sound of randomly being jabbed, but Navya continued. "And, If you start to transform, it will inject you with both a drug to put you under and to undo the transformation." Navya's smugness was evident.

Steve quieted. "How long?"

"Hm?" Navya answered.

Steve moved forward. "How long will we be in that building for?"

Claire answered this time, going to grab the keys from one of the soldiers. "However long it takes."

Seeing Steve's face fall, Navya surprisingly clarified. "We don't know yet. We will have to see what works best for you and go from there."

Steve nodded and resigned himself to being released. After Claire had finished, she offered her hand to help him stand up.

While still dubious of Claire and her intentions, he also wasn't quite sure if he might hurt her. He turned to Navya. "Do the drugs regulate my strength?"

Navya nodded. "You should be about as strong as any other human with your body structure." Steve faced Claire. "I… still don't feel entirely comfortable with the risk," he apologetically turned down her offer. Claire nodded and tried to hide the hurt. _It's because he cares about me,_ she told herself.

He pulled himself up by the bedside bar, resting on the bed's edge before tentatively taking a step and nearly falling over. Claire caught him, and he smiled, quickly finding his footing and backing up. Steve poked at his collar. "Is this thing waterproof?"

"Of course it is," Navya replied. "How else would you be able to shower?"

Steve perked up. "I was just hoping I could take one." He didn't want to think about how long it had been.

"The nurses have been giving you sponge baths in your sleep," Navya assured him.

Steve's face fell into utter horror. "Yeah, no, I definitely still want one."

Claire chuckled and gestured towards the bathroom. "Everything you need is inside. Oh," she grabbed a fresh set of clothes from the table. "Here." She offered them to him.

Steve happily accepted the new threads, and entered the bathroom.

—-

Her.

While Steve was in the shower, Claire looked to Navya.

"So, about later," she began, but found herself at a loss for words.

Navya stopped her with a dismissive wave. "There are things you need to know about cohabitation."

Claire nodded, glad for her coherence and ready to commit every word to memory.

"First," Navya breathed. "The T-Veronica virus present within Steve is the same as within another known subject: Manuela Hidalgo."

Claire listened.

"This means that since his strain has not mutated, we can make a few assumptions on how it is spread."

A nod.

"It spreads through internal contact with blood or semen."

Claire once again nodded. She was old enough that this sort of talk didn't get to her. That was what she told herself, anyway.

"The virus dies outside of the body, so things like washing his clothes, sharing food, and even the exchange of saliva is safe." Navya's face showed no change in expression when saying these things, but Claire felt like the last part was her being playful.

Navya continued. "As long as you don't get those fluids into your bloodstream through open wounds, you should be fine."

Claire remained silent, and Navya took this as a question.

"Yes, that does mean that oral sex is safe, barring you have no cuts inside of your mouth."

"Wh—" Claire began, slightly flustered at Navya's brash conclusion. "I wasn't—"

Navya cut her off. "Through the proper utilization of condoms, sex is also on the table, but I suggest against it until we know more."

Claire's mouth opened in disbelief, soon closing upon thinking better of it. "What will he think if he hears you?" She groaned.

Navya's face didn't change. "He should know these things as well. I gave him the abridged version, but if you are going to be living together, more detail is necessary."

Claire sighed. "Okay," she tried, steeling herself. "What if, during one of his transformations, he bites me hard enough to draw blood?" Her mind drifted to the countless zombies she had encountered, and how they carried on their existence.

"As long as his teeth don't have blood on them, you're fine," Navya offered. "It does not spread through saliva."

Claire nodded. His teeth were so large and sharp when he transformed that she could foresee such a situation potentially happening. The others, however… She shook her head quickly to eject them.

Navya nonetheless carried on with her 'education' as Claire soldiered through.

—-


	10. Let Me Forget

—-

Shedding his layers, he stood under the warm water, losing himself for just a little while.

After feeling sufficiently clean, he proceeded to dry himself off. He could barely see from behind his heavy mop of hair. I need a haircut, he noted to himself. During the process, he could feel scaration across his skin. It was mostly concentrated in his abdomen and chest.

His face fell. He was just a plaything to those scientists, only kept alive for machinations they kept shrouded from him. _I can barely even remember seeing others_. It had to be because of the drugs, he reasoned. Steve didn't want to think it was because all of that 'clone' talk from Navya could be true.

He could remember his life perfectly. He could remember Claire perfectly. That playful girl who offered him a reprieve from the nightmare of Rockfort. She kept both his emotions and shenanigans in check. She was… dependable. He blushed.

What was Claire now? It had been twelve years, and no doubt a lot had happened in her life since their chance meeting.

She seemed so much more on edge now. So much more terrified.

 _I don't want to have that effect on her_ , Steve breathed. He wished they could go back to the semi-normalcy of their interactions from before.

A chuckle emitted from his lips. _Maybe we need zombies around for that_ , he jested.

He grabbed the clothes which she supplied: a simple, white t-shirt, a military green and black striped sweater, grey socks and boxers, and finally, a pair of acid washed jeans.

Steve felt much more regulated and reigned in once everything was on. There was something comforting about the slight restriction. He shook his thoughts away from the times of hospital gowns and worse.

He put on a smile and opened the door to Claire waiting with a pair of black sneakers. "I hope you don't mind what I picked out," she declared. "Once your condition is more predictable, we can go buy more." She caught herself. "That you choose," she hurriedly added. _Don't be too intense_ , she urged.

Steve arched his back with a stretch, testing the flexibility of the fabric. "It's great," he stopped and looked at her. "Don't worry," he smiled. _She's trying_ , he reasoned.

Claire beamed back at him. "Here." Steve immediately put the shoes on, and felt almost complete.

"Could I have a haircut?" He wondered.

Claire paled. "Will the scissors frighten you?"

Steve hadn't even considered that. It was tricky to know just what would trigger unpleasant memories and sensations. "You could always restrain me," he offered, his smile trying to keep the conversation light.

Claire sighed. "Okay, if you don't mind waiting, I'll call in a favor." Steve nodded.

Steve sat down on the bed, twiddling his thumbs while looking around the room as Claire exited.

He tried to keep his mind still as an untouched pond, unfocused on the negative things. _I have someone who cares this much about me. Claire is…_ his heart squeezed. He still had feelings for her. Whether they could survive the weathering of time, he wasn't sure. But she's trying. I have to try, too, he promised himself.

Claire reentered the room, smiling at Steve as she saw him. _He looks so much more… normal? now_. His hair was still shaggier than she remembered, and those eyes… She shook her head. His trepid smile renewed her hope that things between them could improve.

"Hey," Claire called. "I brought one of my co-workers, Amelia." She gestured to the shy, waving girl next to her. "She cuts her son's hair all the time."

"Perfect," Steve supplied, almost making a joke about her competence, but stifled it, preferring any level of skill beyond his own. "Nice to meet you. I'm Steve." He felt mostly alright, being at least in normal clothing.

"Nice to meet you, too," Amelia returned. She looked a bit nervous.

Steve tried not to take it personally. "Claire, could you, uh," he raised his wrists.

Claire was taken aback, but walked to his side, picking up the keys reluctantly. "Are you sure you need them?" She asked quietly.

Steve nodded. "It doesn't hurt anyone to be safe," he whispered back.

"It hurts you," Claire grit her teeth. Steve was taken aback and could only look away. _Am I worth worrying about?_ Steve wondered. Just which of their actions was irrational, he didn't know.

Claire waited a few seconds, but when no response came, she resigned herself to restrict his arms. "That should be enough," she stated. She weakly smiled at Amelia, gesturing towards her spot.

Amelia moved to replace her, hazarding a warning snip of her scissors away from Steve.

When Steve didn't negatively react, Amelia sighed in relief, immediately getting to work. "What kind of hairstyle would you like?" She asked.

"Just a bit more regulated. Short in back with bangs and some length at the sides." He closed his eyes and smiled. "Please."

Amelia smiled, as did Claire. _Maybe I worried too much,_ Claire wondered about both Steve and in general.

The haircut took around fifteen minutes, and when Amelia was sufficiently satisfied with her work, she offered Steve her pocket mirror.

Claire hadn't even thought about it. She couldn't have known.

Steve prepared himself, but it wasn't enough. His haircut was fine, nostalgic even. Amelia had done a great job. It wasn't that: it was what he could now see underneath his bangs.

Steve's head fell forward, his breathing suddenly labored.

"Steve?" Claire hazarded, moving to his side. His face was rigid, eyes locked in place.

His shoulders began to shake. "Steve, what's wrong?" Claire tried again.

She was becoming concerned, but it was then that Steve did the last thing she could have expected.

He laughed.

It was a sad, hollow laugh that cut through her. She gave a worried look to Amelia, who seemingly recognized her sentiment, leaving the room. Claire then turned back to Steve. "Steve…"

He didn't face her, still looking somewhere beyond, chuckling. "What does it matter anymore?"

"What does what matter?" Claire questioned. She didn't know what was causing him such visible distress.

"The apartment," he offered. "For recovery," he spit.

"I don't understand," Claire breathed, calmly. "Steve, please—" She touched his shoulder.

He shook violently against her touch. "Don't!" Steve shouted, suddenly gritting his teeth and bucking forward. Claire removed her hand, bringing it close to her. _Should I call the doctor?_ Her thoughts leapt to the gun on her hip, just in case the collar didn't react. _But, is he even transforming?_ She had no idea what was causing this reaction.

He stayed bent forward, full weight on his restraints. "You think there's actually a recovery from this?"

Claire gulped, unsure how best to respond. "Well, we have to try—"

A broken, pitiful laugh. "No one thought to tell me."

"What's wrong!?" Claire called again. "Please, talk with me about it." _We can work through this._

Steve peeked up at her, one eye visible behind his bangs. "These," he said, obviously.

Claire gasped. "You… You hadn't…" she thought aloud.

"You hadn't even seen your own eyes." With Claire's words, Steve's laughter stopped.

He hung his head limply forward again. "Honestly, what's the point?" He asked. "Seriously, I can't understand." Steve faced her again. "Hey, Claire, explain it to me."

Claire felt weak from his hopelessness. "What do your eyes change?" She countered.

"Hah," Steve breathed. "Not only am I different on the inside, but I can't even hide it from the mirror?" It was all he could do not to cry. "There's no denying it with these reminders." He licked the points of his slightly sharper teeth. Monstrous. _Everything that made me feel like things could be okay… It was all fake._

"We," Claire thought. "We could get you some colored contacts?" She offered. "For going out in public."

Steve's head fell once again. She really doesn't understand anything.

"Claire," he began. "Y-yes?" Claire responded.

"You never asked me what I wanted," he half-heartedly reminded her.

Claire was silent for a few seconds. "What do you want to do?" She finally asked.

"I don't know," Steve revealed. "I'm not even sure anything's worth doing."

"Steve, I'm going to touch you," Claire warned.

"Huh…?" Steve replied, but registered her sentiment enough to mentally prepare for her action.

She got onto her knees on the bed in front of him, enveloping him in a hug, his head nuzzled against her chest.

He didn't move or speak.

"Please," Claire pleaded. "Don't ever think that." Her arms were around him so tightly he felt that they may break apart.

His breath quickened. "This is dangerous, Claire."

"Probably," she supplied him, but didn't move.

Steve's eyes were closed tightly, willing his arms not to shift. _I won't hurt her, I won't hurt her._ "This is stupid," he sighed.

Claire smiled. "Maybe," she responded against the top of his head. "But I've already lost you once."

"What if what you've gotten back isn't even 'me'?" His words were brittle and prone to break.

Claire pulled away from him slightly, urging his chin up to face her. "Haven't you noticed?"

Steve tilted his head against her.

Claire smiled. "Everyone is always changing, and look," she pointed to him. "You haven't started to transform."

Steve blinked and took in his status. His fangs hadn't elongated, and his muscles hadn't begun their painful, stretched shift. He was 'normal'. Whether this was due to the new drugs or his own mental fortitude, he didn't know, but it was something.

It was progress.

"Change is scary, but, it can be good," Claire reassured him. "And I want to give you a chance to see that."

Steve stared at her. "Why aren't you scared?" He questioned. "I understand even less now, knowing how you see me."

Claire pondered his question. _Why am I not afraid?_ She had never been. Not since finding him again. She tilted her head. "I know what you're capable of," she supplied, satisfied with her answer.

Steve was suddenly overcome. The amount of trust she still had for him, even after all these years was almost laughable. But he didn't want to laugh. He only wanted one thing.

"Could you release my arms?" He quietly asked.

Claire felt a shred of uncertainty, but bit it back. _I trust him._ She undid both restraints.

Suddenly, his arms were surrounding her. He had pulled her forward against his chest, his hands desperately wrapped around her sides and his face against her neck.

Claire felt again that his grip was too tight, but it wasn't painful. He was shaking, she noted.

"Thank you," he breathed against her. "For saying that," he hastily added. His warm breath made her hair stand on end. "May I hug you back?" She asked him, quietly.

She heard him chuckle slightly. "Asking makes it feel awkward," he sheepishly answered.

Claire took his playful remark as a yes, and proceeded to curl her arms around his back. His trembling lessened, she thought.

"I never want to make you feel afraid," she promised him.

"Funny," Steve smiled. "I was just thinking the same thing."

 _Are we really that different from then?_

—-


	11. Floor 77

—-

The two stayed like that until one of the doctors checked in after Amelia's report. Steve nearly pushed Claire off the bed, despite himself. The guards had sort of melted into the background, but moving people did not.

Claire chuckled, moving off of the bed. "I have to, um," Claire searched. "Set a few things up. Before we leave." She smiled at him.

Steve tentatively returned the gesture on reddened cheeks. "Yeah," he replied. He looked away. "I'll just, um." He picked up the remote, making what he anticipated to be a 'cool' pose, and switched it on.

 _He looks like a 90s teenage fashion magazine cover,_ Claire mused, doing her best to leave the room with no altered expression. She received moderate success.

Once the door had closed behind her, composure took over and her features became unreadable.

She spoke to the nearest nurse. "I need to ask Doctor Navya about something."

The nurse nodded in affirmation, and Claire followed behind her.

—-

Claire returned to Steve's hospital room beckoning Navya to wait outside. One of the guards was accompanying them. "I still think he needs to be restrained," he breathed.

Claire exhaled and faced him. "Listen, I know you mean well, but on this new drug, Steve's main trigger is _emotional stimuli._ " She let the sentence lie in the air as Navya nodded dully in agreement.

When the guard remained silently perplexed, Claire carried on. "How do you think being restrained would make him _feel_?"

The guard remained silent, looked away and readied his gun. "If this all goes south…"

"I wouldn't worry about that," Navya stated, handing Claire a small box.

The guard eyed it. "What's that?"

"A weapon, of sorts," Navya shrugged.

Claire placed it in her holster, opposite the gun, hoping to never have to use either.

She entered the room.

—-

Steve passed the time watching television, unconsciously tugging at his collar in discomfort. It felt as though this was simply to be his existence for the foreseeable future.

He looked around. No more guards inside the room with him. It didn't really matter, as he was sure the corner cameras gave any and all security just as much access to his actions. He sighed and supposed that distracting himself was preferable to thinking too deeply about circumstances.

Claire entered the room, and with her, one of the guards from outside. "Steve! It's time to leave," she declared, smiling.

Steve turned and mirrored her expression weakly. He didn't know how much he believed in any of this, but he wanted to believe in _her._

He got up from the bed, making sure to turn off the television before doing so.

Claire looked at the door and then faced him pensively.

 _Oh,_ he thought. _She's worried about me._ He shook his head and plastered the largest smile he could muster. "I'll accompany you," he paused for dramatic effect. "M'lady."

"Oh god, Steve, no," Claire laughed. "That phrase has taken on a new meaning in recent years." Her concern was erased in a matter of seconds.

 _Success,_ Steve thought. Still, he wondered what this new meaning was, and threw the word into a 'never use again' pile.

Steve moved to her side, poised to leave. Claire peeked over at him. _I nearly asked him if he needed to hold hands_. She would have to try to give Steve more credit in being able to handle himself around people. _He has done very well, so far._ _Barring a few traumatic events…_ But it would get better, she asserted.

As soon as they left the room, Navya and several more guards followed. Steve felt their presence magnified with their movement. It gave them more bearing as real people.

In the corners of his eyes, he saw researchers scurrying to their destinations. There were more people than he had seen for… He didn't know.

Navya stopped, and their walking with her. "Take care, you two," she supplied. "If you need anything else…" Her eyes moved squarely to Steve's. "Let me know. I'll be watching you." Seemingly satisfied with Steve's widening eyes, she walked off with a slight smirk.

If the two didn't agree on anything else, they would always be on the same page about how unnerving her personality was.

Feeling all too aware of his eyes now, Steve looked down, attempting to cover them with his bangs. _Breathe in. Out. In. Out. In…_

Claire noticed he was struggling, and was dangerously close to trying to hold his hand when she stopped. _I have to cool it._ She steeled her resolve and stayed by his side.

Trying his best to block out his surroundings, they made their way to the underground parking garage.

—-

It was dark, open and yet limiting all at once. Steve didn't like this place. It reminded him of a steel version of the cavern from _then_. He gulped and tried to look to the van which people were loading.

Once the doors opened, half of the guards entered to sit. Claire looked to Steve, whose timid eyes were locked on the vehicle. She gently waved in his peripheral, getting a slight start.

"Hey, it's just a short trip until we're there, okay?" She offered.

Steve nodded quickly and replied with an uncomfortable, "Mhm," following her to their seats.

Once a few more guards had entered, completely surrounding them, the doors closed.

Steve looked up and then down. Anywhere but around him. He could hear and feel every output of breath they took. The whole place was overwhelmingly warm and overbearing. _In. Out. In. Out. In. Not working,_ he panicked.

Peering down, he spotted Claire's hand at her side. _I won't grip her, just to be safe,_ he reassured himself. _Just this should be okay._ He breathed and closed his eyes, his hand brushed against hers, causing Claire to stir. He willed his hand to remain there, just barely touching her.

Claire looked down at Steve's hand in surprise, then searched his face, finding his uncomfortable expression clenched. Looking back down to his apprehensive hand, she smiled and enveloped her fingers around it carefully.

She heard him exhale, and witnessed his features soften slightly as his hand twitched in hers, soon settling.

They stayed like that the for the rest of the ride.

—

When the van stopped, Steve was once again greeted by dim light. He let go of Claire's hand, and she had to pretend to be okay with his sudden independence.

"Another underground parking garage," he sighed upon exiting.

Claire chuckled behind him. "Well yeah." She gestured to the expanse. "Security."

As they followed the guards to a large elevator, Steve asked, "So, are these guys going to be with us too?"

"You could ask us, ya know," one of the younger guards replied. "We're people." He was soon nudged by an older, more stoic teammate.

"You never spoke to me like one," Steve muttered under his breath.

"No," Claire answered him. "They're just here to make sure nothing goes wrong on the way."

Steve sunk into himself. "Are they always going to chaperone when we go somewhere?"

Claire was silent for ten long seconds. "Claire?" Steve hesitantly called.

Claire was debating whether or not to tell him they wouldn't be allowed to leave. Or, at least, he wouldn't. Not for a while. _It might upset him,_ she worried.

"Cl—" Steve stopped when he heard her tongue click. A smile stretched her features in false pleasantry. "We can talk more about it later," she offered.

Steve's eyes fell to the ground. Cold, grey steel. He knew he had to steel himself in turn. _Just for now,_ he assured himself hollowly.

They were guided to a large elevator at the edge of the room. The button numbers were numerous. _Just how tall is this building,_ Steve wondered.

He hadn't seen which number was pushed, but they waited, cycling through number set after number set.

Steve was doing his best not to think. He wanted to trust Claire, this girl he met years ago. Now she was a woman, equipped with lies and a smile. She hadn't quite lied to him earlier, but he knew she was keeping things from him. He wondered what she was thinking.

The elevator doors opened and Claire wanted more than anything to grab his hand; to offer him reassurances, but she let those thoughts fall back. "Let's go," she called to him plainly.

Steve gave life to his anxieties through ground teeth, their mismatched lengths making the action awkward. He followed after her pensively, but not before catching the floor number: 77.


End file.
